


Sleepless in Oregon, 1985

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Huddling For Warmth, Insomnia, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, Sleepy Cuddles, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Ray's never been good at falling asleep on missions.





	Sleepless in Oregon, 1985

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Ganesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/gifts).



Mick is snoring. 

It's a rough, grumbling noise, precisely every five seconds. Ray's been counting the beats between each snore. It's a little like counting sheep. Very loud, pissed off sheep. 

He's been telling himself that if he focuses on the sounds Mick is making, the repetitive lull of it will make him fall asleep sooner or later, but he's been lying awake for too long now to keep believing it'll work. But as long as he's fixating on Mick's snoring, at least he isn't fixating on running worst case scenarios in his head.

Truth is, he's never been good at falling asleep on missions. Most don't last that long, luckily, but the few times he's been off the Waverider for more than a few hours at a time, he's always had trouble getting a good night's rest, even when they had a comfortable place to stay.

This one... isn't exactly comfortable, which makes it even harder. 

He pulls the ratty old blanket tighter around himself and wishes he were a little more like Mick, able to fall asleep anywhere, on rough ground or a hard work bench, sitting propped up against the wall on the bridge of Waverider, or stuck in 1985 in the woods of Oregon in a cold, deserted cabin with a broken heater and flimsy blankets clearly made for warmer weather. 

Lost in his own head, he fails to realize that the snoring has stopped until Mick's sleep-rough voice startles him from his thoughts. 

"Stop it, Haircut."

He sounds grumpier than usually. Ray guiltily twists towards him, even though he isn't sure what exactly he's done. In the dark, with just a sliver of moonlight falling through the small, dirty window, all he can make out is the faint outline of Mick sitting up. Shit. At least one of them should be getting some rest. 

"Sorry. Did I wake you up? I didn't mean to."

"I can hear ya thinking from over here. That stupid genius brain of yours is too fucking loud," Mick complains.

For a moment, Ray wonders if Mick meant that literally, if he somehow acquired mind-reading powers. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that happened since he's been with the Legends. Hell, it would barely be the weirdest thing that happened _this week_ alone. 

He tries to think _'Can you hear me?'_ in Mick's direction as firmly and clearly as possible, and then once more for good measure. When he gets no reaction, he figures that Mick probably isn't a telepath after all. More likely, he just picked up on Ray twisting and turning and being a bundle of anxious tension instead of sleeping. 

Ray isn't sure whether he's disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, having a telepath on the team would be so cool. Then again, there are some thoughts he'd rather keep to himself.

"Sorry," he says again. 

Mick offers a grunt in response. "Should get some sleep. No point staying up. We'll hear when Blondie and Pretty get back."

"Yeah, I know. I just— I can't fall asleep, that's all." 

He almost tells Mick that it's because he's worrying that something might have happened to the others, that he's imagining all kinds of horrible things that could have gone wrong, that it doesn't make sense that a _timeship_ should be late (never mind that the Waverider has been notoriously bad at being on time since, well, ever). But even though Mick isn't the worrying kind and would probably just tell him to stop being stupid, Ray feels bad about unloading all of his anxieties on Mick, so he swallows the explanation. 

"It's too damn cold," is what he says instead. It's not even a lie, though he's fairly sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep even if they were stranded in a cosy, clean place with central heating and comfortable warm duvets.

Mick hums in agreement. "You told me not to make a fire." 

He still sounds put out, but not as angry as earlier when Ray grabbed the Heat Gun just in time to stop Mick from inadvertently burning down the whole place.

"Yeah, well, it's a wooden cabin. I know you're not really all that big on fire safety, but as bad as this place is, it's still better than having to sleep outside because you made it go up in flames."

"You're not sleeping anyway," Mick argues sourly and yeah, okay, maybe he has a point. "At least we'd have been warmer."

The petulance in his tone makes Ray smile a little, despite himself. "Maybe tomorrow." 

Hopefully, by then, the others will be back to pick them up, and Mick can burn down the cabin as a farewell present in celebration of a successful mission. More or less successful, anyway. Survival counts as success, right?

Either way, the prospect of getting to set something ablaze seems to mollify Mick a little. "Good. 's not gonna help you keep warm tonight, though, is it?" 

"It's okay. I promise I'll be quiet now so you can sleep." 

There's a rustle of fabric and suddenly something hits Ray right in the face. He yelps, startled, before it registers that what attacked him is soft and fluffy and warm with lingering body heat. 

"What the hell, Mick?" 

He reaches down to the floor and fumbles for the pillow Mick must have thrown at him.

"You're a dumbass, Haircut." The gravelly voice doesn't come from across the room anymore, much closer now, and once he fished up the pillow, Ray realizes that Mick's standing right next to his cot, a big, dark shadow towering over him. 

"I don't give a fuck about you waking me up. Just want ya to get some shut-eye. Give that big, busy brain of yours some rest." 

Ray can barely see anything, but somehow Mick manages to reach out and poke Ray right in the forehead with an astonishingly well-aimed finger, putting on just enough pressure to make Ray flop back onto the mattress.

"Ow," he says, but it's a reflex rather than actual discomfort. 

Above him, Mick snorts. "Scout over."

"What? I don't— Why?"

"It's cold. Sharin' helps keep ya warm. Aren't you s'pposed to be the one who's good at all that science crap?"

Ray's brain chooses that moment to shut down. Because, sure, he's good at science. He knows that preserving body heat is a thing. He just somehow fails to make to jump from there to Mick offering to cuddle him so Ray can warm up enough to sleep. Which— He doesn't even know where to start! 

Even after all the time they spent together on the Waverider, all the occasions they saved each other's lives, Ray is still floored every time Mick lets on that he _cares_. It shouldn't surprise him anymore – the fact that it does makes guilt stir painfully in his gut – but Mick's usually so good at hiding behind a mask of indifference and rage that it's hard to take his kindness for granted. Ray tries very hard to zero in on that bit, because if he doesn't, he'll be thinking about Mick's solid, burly body wrapped around his, which is something he's been trying very hard not to think about for — a long time. With varying success. 

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, trying to muster up the will to tell Mick that it's fine, he doesn't have to do this, Ray won't be able to sleep anyway. But then Mick's already sitting down, the springs creaking under their joined weight, and Ray instinctively makes room for him before he can convince himself not to.

Ray shimmies over until his back hits the cabin wall, flatting himself against it to give Mick as much space as he can. 

"The hell you doin' now, Haircut?"

"Making room for you?" It comes out more like a question than a statement, and Ray's voice doesn't sound like his voice at all, too high-pitched and unsure.

There's a frustrated growl from the other side of the cot. Mick mutters something under his breath that Ray can't quite make out, but he's 99% sure it includes some choice words about his intelligence. Before he can make up his mind whether to feel insulted, Mick's hands settle on his midriff, pulling him back towards the middle of the cot. 

"Hey! What—"

"The fucking point of sharing body heat is to stay close enough to actually share body heat, Haircut." Mick grumbles. 

He spreads both their blankets over them before settling down next to Ray. The fabric is so flimsy that the extra blanket barely makes any difference, but Mick is like a furnace, radiating heat, as if has body has somehow adapted to his supervillain-cum-legend persona. Perhaps Ray should ask Gideon to check if Mick doesn't have meta powers after all. No ordinary human can be that warm. Up close, Mick smells like gasoline and smoke.

Ray closes his eyes and wills his racing heartbeat to calm down. But then, his heart's never been good at listening to his mind.

"What's wrong now? You're all tense and shit. You still cold?" 

He more feels than sees Mick turn towards him, bringing them even closer. His bare arms brush against Ray's, and the touch is like an electric shock.

"No. No, I'm good," Ray hurries to assure him. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I hadn't figured you for, you know, the cuddling type."

"This ain't cuddling!"

Mick sounds offended, and Ray quickly backpaddles. "No, of course it's not!" He tries to subtly create some more space between them to starve off Mick's freak-out, cursing himself for calling Mick out instead of enjoying the physical closeness while it lasts. "I just meant—"

A large, muscular arm winds around him and draws him flush against Mick's chest. He can't stop a startled sound from escaping his lips, making Mick chuckle in response.

"Now, _that's_ cuddling," he announces, and Ray realizes that he misread Mick's mood before, amusement now plain in his tone. 

Too soon, his grip loosens. Ray reacts on instinct, his hand settling on Mick's arm, holding him in place. 

The skin under his fingers is rough and uneven, old scar tissue that Ray's seen a million times before but never touched. Time seems to still for a moment as Ray holds his breath. To his surprise, Mick doesn't shove him off immediately.

"Can we just... stay like that? For a while?" 

It somehow takes more courage to ask than to put on his suit and fly head-first into danger. Ray is only too aware of the irony: He's faced an immortal madman hellbent on world domination, dinosaurs who wanted to take a bite out of him, evil sorcerers and homicidal unicorns, but none of them scared him as much as potentially admitting to having feelings for Mick Rory. 

Not that he's admitting anything, strictly speaking. He could just be asking to keep warm. Plausible deniability and all.

"Sure, Haircut," Mick says casually, like it's the easiest thing in the world, like the anxious anticipation of his reaction didn't almost make Ray's heart leap from his chest.

His palm rests on Ray's abdomen, the warmth seeping through the shirt Ray's wearing into his skin until the chill from earlier is no more but a faint memory. 

He almost thinks Mick fell asleep when his voice cuts through the silence again. 

"Ya know, there are other ways to get all warmed up."

Mick shifts, his groin pressing against Ray's backside, and Ray can feel the bulge of his half-hard cock rubbing against him, the suggestion unmistakable.

So much for plausible deniability. 

And Ray _wants_. Wants the bulk of Mick's body to blanket him and press him down into the mattress. Wants Mick to strip him with those wonderfully rough, callused hands that fueled so many of Ray's fantasies. Wants Mick to stifle the anxious noise in Ray's head with hard kisses and sure touches. Wants to trace all of Mick's scars and learn their stories.

The temptation to say yes and to take what Mick's offering is undeniable, but ultimately, Ray wants _too much_ , much more than a rough tumble during a mission gone wrong can give him.

"I'm not having sex with you in a abandoned cabin in 1985, where Sara and Nate could walk in any moment now, Mick." 

He tries to sound stern and put off rather than regretful and sad but, well. 

Mick doesn't push it. "Pity."

Ray almost expects him to pull away, but he doesn't. He stays just like he is, holding Ray. The steady thump-thump of his heartbeat echoing through Ray's body where they're pressed together front-to-back makes the tension Ray's been holding in slowly ease, and he decides that maybe he should dare to take a leap of faith.

"It gets cold on the Waverider too, you know?" he suggests slyly.

Mick's laugh is a rumbling noise that vibrates against Ray's body. "Sure it does, Haircut." 

He tightens his arm for a moment, and it almost feels like a promise. 

"Now get some sleep, will ya?"

It barely takes a minute before he's out like a light, snoring like he did before, only it's right at Ray's ear now, and Ray can feel the rise and fall of Mick's chest against him. There's something oddly comforting about it.

Wrapped in Mick's warmth, Ray lies awake and listens, counting the seconds once more. 

One, two, three, four, five. 

One, two, three, four, five. 

One, two— 

Between one snore and the next, Ray falls asleep.

End.


End file.
